


I'd give you all the years of my life

by ItsAWonderfulLife



Series: Merlin Bingo 2021 [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coughing, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Literally they're just idiots, M/M, Merlin Bingo, Pining! Merlin, Requited Love, Unrequited Love, hanahaki, pining! Arthur, suffocating, tw: suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsAWonderfulLife/pseuds/ItsAWonderfulLife
Summary: Merlin Bingo Square #4 - Square A2Arthur has Hanahaki. Merthur go on a little trip to see some magical peeps who might know how to cure it. They're both idiots. Nothing new, nothing changed, nothing imaginative to see here.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Bingo 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119725
Comments: 4
Kudos: 144
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	I'd give you all the years of my life

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own BBC's Merlin, nor am I affiliated with them. Pity, I know.
> 
> Merlin Bingo Square A2 - Hanahaki.

Arthur can’t remember a time when he didn’t have this cough. He likes to think there was a time, once, when he could breathe easily without the musty scent of rotting flowers choking up his senses. Pulling his hand away from his mouth, he finds several more patronisingly pink and cheery petals collected in his palm, and scoffs, letting them tip to the floor as he reaches once more for the reigns to Llamrei.

“Arthur?”

And that, that right there, is the reason these petals are here in the first place. His manservant of approximately three years is the only one to know about his _condition_ , and yet he has no idea who has caused it. It’s painfully ironic, when Arthur thinks about it, which he tries not to do too frequently.

 _Hanahaki,_ Merlin told him, the day he first woke up spluttering through a mouthful of flora and crashed into Gaius’ apothecary in a wild frenzy of panic, is a magical disease brought on by its victim falling in love and knowing that that love could never be returned. A root grows in the base lining of the lungs, twining itself lethally around the very heart of its victim, and flourishing until its victim can no longer cough up its petals, and suffocates. The disease is fatal, and it is short-lived, usually laying waste to its victim’s life within several months. Arthur has had it for nearly three years. To afford himself some element of self-respect, he reaffirms that it has been _nearly_ three years, and that he didn’t fall in love with the big-eared fool riding alongside him straight away.

“It’s fine, Merlin,” he croaks now, spitting out the remnants of another foul-tasting petal, “it’s fine.”

Merlin hesitates, but Arthur adamantly refuses to look to his side, where he knows he’ll find loving eyes full of concern. He knows Merlin loves him. It’s just not in the right way. It won’t be enough to save him, when his absurdly long period of suffering is finally at an end. He juts out his chin, swallowing against both his pride and the unpleasant aftertaste of the coughing fit, and falls into a gallop.

“Arthur,” Merlin protests, drawing his own horse closer and matching pace infuriatingly easily, “it’s not fine and you know it. If anything, it’s getting worse! You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

“I’m not an invalid, Merlin!” Arthur snaps, colour rising on his cheeks. He forces himself not to bask in the care and concern of his friend. “And besides, if we find the Disir, Morgana says they’ll have answers. She says they might know a cure!”

He doesn’t want to reflect on the high, breathy note of hope he can hear in his own voice, because it’s probably about to be crushed.

“There is no cure! I wish you’d just tell me who it is. I could talk to them, make them see-”

“No, Merlin!” Arthur hisses. They have this argument at least once per week. That’s on a good week. “I can’t _force_ anyone to love me. I won’t. It’s not something I’m willing to subject someone to just because of my own selfish feelings. My thoughts on this haven’t changed.”

“No,” Merlin retorts, “I see you’re still being a self-sacrificing clotpole and a complete _ass_ about it.”

“That’s various forms of treason, Merlin,” Arthur smirks, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin sighs, and Arthur resigns himself to riding in uncomfortable and charged silence for the rest of the journey. Thankfully, it proves to be rather short, and before he knows it, Llamrei’s whinnying is pulling him from his absentminded daydreaming of a world where Merlin loved him too.

“We’re here,” he states unnecessarily, just to break the fraught silence weighing down on them both, and Merlin nods at him with a small but grateful smile. They jump from their horses and tie them securely to a nearby tree.

“Arthur!” Merlin scolds.

“What?” he huffs.

“You can’t bring a weapon into a sacred place!”

Merlin glares at where he’s clutching to his sword like the only lifeline he has left. In a way, it is a lifeline. It’s a symbol of his prowess as a knight, as a swordsman, as a king. It’s representative of everything that was there before Merlin, and everything that he would be if someone stripped away the tangled webs of love enshrining his very being. He sighs and throws it down onto the ground.

“Happy?” he challenges, the sarcasm heavy in his voice as he raises his eyebrows at Merlin, who is beaming at him. He swears he can feel the root grow in size every time he sees that ridiculous smile. Nauseous, and completely in love, he huffs, turning away and marching into the cave.

“Who goes there?” drones a voice in the all-consuming darkness. It sounds more like a chorus of voices. It groans right through Arthur’s heart, and he finds himself choking on another round of petals. Perhaps Merlin is right. It is getting worse.

“I am Arthur Pendragon,” he wheezes, brushing stray petals from his lips, “and I have come to seek your guidance and your help.”

“Pendragon? Why would we help you?” the chorus of voices taunt him, amusement laced in their words. Why indeed. The Pendragon name had long been associated with the slaughter of innocent magic users. It isn’t anymore.

“I am not my father. I have not ruled as he has. Camelot prospers, and all citizens, magical and non-magical, are welcome there. My sister, Morgana, is Court Sorceress. It is she who advised me to seek your counsel.”

“You speak true,” offered the voice, “and I suppose you have made progress. Come forward, state your issue.”

“It is of- it is quite a personal issue,” he stammers, stumbling forward slightly, distancing himself from where Merlin is hovering at the entrance to the cave. “I have a magical disease for which there is only one known cure. That cure is not something I can have. So, I need to seek out another one. I need your help.”

He can see nothing in the thick darkness of the cave, but he has the distinct feeling that he is being assessed by the presence residing within.

“ _Hanahaki,”_ it passes judgement, its tone wistful and, he likes to think, slightly sympathetic. “There is no other cure, Arthur Pendragon, but you know this well.”

The bubble of hope which formed in his heart on their journey here pops, and he reels backwards, stung by the renewed affirmation of his doom.

“No!” another voice demands, and he turns to see Merlin storming forward. “There must be something you can do!”

“Emrys,” the voice coos, “are you demanding we save your king? Why is that?”

“He’s my friend!”

Arthur tries not to flinch at that and chooses to instead focus on why the weird voice is calling Merlin a different name. He’s fairly sure he’s heard the name Emrys before but-

_“There is talk of one,” Morgana explains, “who is the druid king, of sorts, and the leader of all magical creatures. He is destined to stand by your side and bring Camelot into a Golden Age. If anyone can cure you, surely he could!”_

_“Oh? And what is this great messiah’s name?” Arthur smirks, with doubt heavy in his stomach, a permanent refusal to believe he will ever see the other side of this curse._

_“Emrys,” she breathes adoringly._

“Merlin,” he croaks, pulling his friend’s attention away from the heated argument he seems to be engaging in with a sacred entity, “are you magic?”

The colour drains from Merlin’s face, and he stammers over his apologies. Arthur has never known Merlin to do anything less than confidently in his life. The imbecile has nearly as much unearned confidence as Gwaine.

“I’m so- I’m so sorry, Arthur. I wanted to tell you. I just-”

“He has been keeping you alive, young Pendragon.”

Arthur spins around at that, eyes wild and blazing into the darkness, before turning back to his trembling manservant.

“What do they mean, Merlin?”

“You- it’s- it’s _Hanahaki,_ Arthur!” Merlin splutters. “I couldn’t just let you die! My magic has been fighting it off. It can’t last forever, but I was hoping I could last until your beloved fell in love with you in return. I- I just wanted to help.”

Arthur sighs. He isn’t surprised. Perhaps he should be. He’s just found out that his best friend, the man he loves, has been a sorcerer the entire time he’s known him, and that he’s been using his magic to keep Arthur alive so Arthur can fall in love with someone else. He doesn’t know whether to cry about the betrayal, delight in the kindness and concern, or fold himself into a ball and sob at the proof that Merlin couldn’t possibly love him too.

“Thank you,” he says simply, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder and swallowing down his emotions, “for everything.”

Merlin hasn’t stopped shaking, but he nods a hesitant smile at Arthur.

“Emrys,” the voice continues, decidedly harder and more hostile, “you must ask him who it is.”

“I have!” Merlin snaps. “He does not wish to tell me.”

“Arthur Pendragon, this is a mistake. You must tell him.”

“I can’t!” Arthur gasps, pulling his hand away from where it was still clasped on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s not- no. I just can’t.”

Merlin stares at him, confusion evident on his face, before a horrible look of realisation dawns, and Arthur’s stomach twists itself into even more knots somehow.

“Arthur, is it- is it me?” he asks quietly,

Arthur’s face crumples, and he bursts into hot and messy tears. Merlin immediately reaches out to him, pulling him into a comforting hug.

“It’s okay,” he shushes him, running a tender hand down his back in calming strokes, “breathe for me okay?”

Arthur tries to, and only manages to cough up more petals. Eyes wide and panicked, he turns to Merlin.

“Can’t- can’t breathe,” he rasps, clinging desperately to Merlin’s arms as he feels his own knees give in. He wants to memorise this face, those beautiful eyes. He wants to take the memory with him into Avalon.

“No! Don’t you dare leave me! I love you too- dammit Arthur!” Merlin sobs, folding down to the floor of the cave with Arthur in his arms. “I’ve loved you since you tried to kill me in the market square. Don’t you _dare_ leave me in this world without you.”

Arthur smiles, a warm sensation tingling its way through his lungs. It’s the last thing he feels before everything goes black.

* * *

He wakes to the lightest sensation of freedom he has ever known, and for the first time in three years, he can breathe deeply and fully. He takes a big gulp of air, enjoying the rush of it completely filling his painless lungs, before he dares to allow his eyelids to flutter open.

“If you ever,” warns a menacing voice at the foot of Gaius’ sickbed, which seems to be where he is lying, “do that to me again, I- _Arthur,_ how could you not know?”

He doesn’t want to look at the pain and exhaustion on Merlin’s beautiful face, but he forces himself to anyway, and flushes with shame at the heartbreak he finds in those blue eyes.

“I didn’t want to force you to love me! I couldn’t do that to you. You don’t even _like_ me most of the time – how could I ever expect you to love me?”

“You,” Merlin chides, “are an idiot. I have loved you as long as I’ve known you. I was exhausting myself every day just to keep you alive!”

Arthur’s head snaps up at that, his glare burning into Merlin. “ _What?_ ”

“Um, I’m not uh,” Merlin stammers, blushing a bright red, and oh _gods,_ even when he’s awkward he’s perfect, “I’m not very good at healing magic. It’s been draining me to fight off the effects of this. I could’ve just _cured_ it if you'd just told me-”

He breaks off, considering his words when Arthur raises an eyebrow at him.

“Fair point. I am sorry about lying to you. I’ve only ever used my magic for you,” he promises, eyes flicking up hopefully to meet Arthur’s.

“We’re going to talk about all this,” Arthur promises, “but right now there are other things to be done.”

With that said, he pulls Merlin down into a tentative kiss, pressing his lips gently to Merlin’s, trying to throw all of the love he feels into that single moment of contact.

“I love you,” Merlin whispers against his lips like it’s the most precious secret.

“I love you too,” Arthur mumbles dazedly, and breathes in deeply, filling his whole chest with air and the knowledge that they have the rest of their lives together.


End file.
